


The Morning After

by thyla_of_mine



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Breakfast, Cute, Domestic, Fluff, Fluffy, M/M, Morning After, Snuggling, bones can cook, happy feels, this will cheer you up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thyla_of_mine/pseuds/thyla_of_mine
Summary: Pavel looked up for approval for a moment before digging into the food with abandon, feeling the warmth from it radiate through his body from his stomach. He was unable to hold back a little moan as he tried the eggs— they were just so good. He hadn’t known the doctor could cook, and he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.
McCoy watched him with a strange look on his face, almost transfixed; he hadn’t thought it was possible for him to feel like this for another person again. And it terrified him. How did he know he wouldn’t fuck this up too? Not to mention, he was at least 15 years Pavel’s senior. 
But he wanted this so bad.





	The Morning After

Pavel woke slowly, wrapped in a thick cocoon of blankets, which smelled faintly of spice and musk. He felt sore in an odd way, but it wasn’t painful. He sighed and rolled over, expecting to find a warm body to snuggle into. But the bed was empty.

Disoriented, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Bone’s bed. Their bed. He blushed all the way to his hairline as memories of the night before flashed through his brain, snippets of sensation and love and heat, all rolled into one. He shook his head gently, and wrapped a hand around the bedpost, steadying himself. He ran one hand through his hair (messed up beyond belief) and took a breath. His stomach growled.

Well. Time to go find food, he thought with another sigh. Bones was probably hard at work back in the med bay. It wasn’t like he couldn’t fend for himself…

Then why did his chest tighten up at the thought of eating breakfast alone, after the night before?

As Pavel stepped into the little room adjoining the doctor’s sleeping quarters, he felt a bright grin creep across his face. McCoy hadn’t gone back to the med bay— he was bent over the tiny old-fashioned gas stove, scrambling a pan of eggs. He was wearing warm-looking sweatpants and an apron (Chekov would have never suspected that he owned something like that.) A plate of toast was settled onto the stool next to him, and a pot of coffee steamed on the stove next to the pan of eggs.

At the sound of Pavel’s bare feet on the shiny metal, Bones turned around, his eyes softening at the sight of the younger man dressed in boxer shorts, fuzzy socks, and his own shirt. The flannel was much too large for the Russian, the sleeves covering his hands except for his fingertips, and the hem of the shirt falling past his hips. It was adorable.

“Hey, there, sunshine. Sleep well?” Bones’ voice was thick with rest, gravelly and accented. Pavel’s face reddened again, memories of the night before flooding his mind.

“Da, I slept great…you made eggs?” He asked eagerly, stepping close enough to the doctor that he wrap his arms around the doctor’s waist, the skin of his bare back warm and comforting. Pavel buried his face in the fabric of the apron, burrowing into McCoy’s chest. He felt a gentle laugh rumble against his face and warm arms come up to rub his shoulders.

“Yes, I sure did. But if you don’t want them to burn, you’re gonna have to let go of me for a few minutes, okay, sweetheart?” He kissed the top of Chekov’s head, letting his eyes meet hazel ones as his lover pulled away from him with a nod, climbing into one of the chairs at the tiny table.

“When will they be ready?” Pavel asked, bouncing a bit in his seat. He wasn’t used to having food made for him; in fact, the last person to cook for him had been his mother, and he hadn’t seen her in years. On the ship, the replicator could make passable food most of the time, but there was nothing quite like having someone cook for you because they wanted to.

“I decided you deserved to try some good old fashioned Southern breakfast food.” Half of Bones’ mouth quirked up into a grin, but his eyes were full of warmth. Love. It made Pavel’s tummy flip. "And give 'em a few minutes"  
“What’s that?” Pavel asked, gesturing to a pile of white, sweet-smelling mush next to the pile of toast.  
“Grits,” Bones said proudly, scooping some of the eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. He also piled some of the grits and toast onto the plate, smothering the toast in red jam. He poured some orange juice into a glass and set all of the food down in front of Chekov with a satisfied look on his face.

Pavel looked up for approval for a moment before digging into the food with abandon, feeling the warmth from it radiate through his body from his stomach. He was unable to hold back a little moan as he tried the eggs— they were just so good. He hadn’t known the doctor could cook, and he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

McCoy watched him with a strange look on his face, almost transfixed; he hadn’t thought it was possible for him to feel like this for another person again. And it terrified him. How did he know he wouldn’t fuck this up too? Not to mention, he was at least 15 years Pavel’s senior. 

But he wanted this so bad.

Fuck it, he thought to himself, sinking into the chair next to Pavel. He wanted this. 

He noticed Pavel watching him from the corner of his eyes as he munched on toast. Jeez, either this kid never ate or he had a bottomless pit for a stomach.

“What’re you starin’ at?” Bones asked, voice still a bit gravelly from sleep, his accent stronger than usual.

“You are watching me eat,” Pavel replied, his voice questioning. He turned in his chair so he was facing the doctor, his mouth still full of jam and toast. “You are not hungry?”

“No, I ate while I was cooking,” McCoy admitted, combing a hand through his own tangled hair. Pavel liked him like this, tousled from sleep, dark eyes still sleepy.

Pavel shoved his last bite of toast into his mouth and climbed out of his chair and into the doctor’s lap. McCoy sputtered a bit, his face turning red, before he had to shoot out an arm to catch Pavel before he fell backwards.

“Whoa, there,” he said, steadying the boy against his chest. Pavel grinned, not even admonished, and snuggled into his chest, now bare without the apron. Bones sighed, wrapping both arms around the younger man to hold him gently. He listened to his calm breaths, counting them and concentrating on the feel of the wiry muscle in the arms wrapped around his neck.

He smiled into Pavel’s hair, ticking his nose. He could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
